A clipped response. I smile, trying to brighten his spirits. “And what did you talk about?”
He sighs, setting down the glass with a little more force than necessary. “He wanted to discuss my future. I let him pretend he still has a say in my life.”
It’s clear that Nathaniel doesn’t want to talk, and I don’t want to push him if it makes him uncomfortable. So, I simply reply, “Well, I’m happy that you got to spend some time with him.”
He walks over and pulls me into his arms.
“Please don’t make me do it again, baby.” He nuzzles into my neck and takes a deep inhale, breathing me in. “It was time that could have been far better spent with you. Now, you’re going to have to make up for it.”
Sure enough, he barely lets me out of his sight all week.
He refuses every invitation from his parents to see him again, choosing instead to hole us up in his apartment.
“We’re busy,” he tells them, his arm tightening around my waist, his body angled protectively toward me, as if even the thought of seeing them poses a threat to the fragile world he’s built around us. “They’ll survive without us for a few more days.”
I waver at first, especially whenever Renée’s phone calls came. She’s been kind to me, and I don’t want her to think I’m ignoring her on purpose. But no matter how I try to reason with him, Nathaniel can’t be convinced.
“I want you to myself,” he says, voice firm.
He won’t let me break the spell.
So, I stay in the bubble he created, where only two of us exist.
But the longer we stay this way, the more our closeness feels comforting and constricting at the same time.
Every waking moment, he is wrapped around me. It doesn't matter where we are or what we’re doing—Nathaniel refuses distance.
In bed, he always holds me so tightly, legs tangled with mine, breath warm against the crook of my neck. I wake up with his entire body molded to mine, his face buried in my shoulder, his grip unrelenting. He’ll whisper against my skin, his voice low and raw, “Stay. Just a little longer.”
I never have the heart to say no.
His hands are never idle. Even when I’m reading, his fingers trace the inside of my wrist, play with the hem of my sweater, brush stray strands of hair behind my ear. He watches me with that simmering intensity, his eyes dark and focused, his mouth curving into a soft, vulnerable smile whenever our gazes meet.
He grows restless whenever I’m right beside him, his shoulders tensing, his jaw tightening as his eyes follow me around the room. I know his anxiety is because I haven’t givenhim an answer yet. But how can I, when I’m still making sense of the question?
It isn't that I’m uncertain about how I feel—I love him.And I have no doubt that Nathaniel wants to keep me.
But it’s clear to me that he proposed out of fear. Nathaniel was overwhelmed by his emotions, raw from his confessions. He felt safe with me, and it terrified him to think of losing that sense of security. He thus reached for permanence in that moment of weakness. However, is that the right reason to get married?
If I say yes, I know what will happen. He’ll sweep in and make every aspect of my life easier, he’ll take care of me, protect me, and love me fiercely, without restraint. He can offer a kind of stability I’ll never be able to match, not with the resources he has at his disposal. And it makes me wonder: what am I bringing to the table? It’s hard not to feel the imbalance of it, the gap between what he’s able to give and what I can.
Furthermore, I don’t want to feel like I’m taking advantage of his vulnerability. This conversation is one to be had when we are both thinking clearly.
But with each passing day, I can see how the waiting is tearing him apart. He watches me constantly with a silent desperation that breaks my heart a little more each day. He doesn't ask me again—not outright. And I don’t feel ready to broach the topic just yet.
Instead, I let him take as much comfort as he needs, because that’s all that I can offer him right now.
It’s a dangerous kind of intimacy—one that makes me feel secure, but also deeply aware of how much Nathaniel relies on me now. He’s threading himself into every part of me, tying himself to me so tightly that I wonder if either of us can ever untangle ourselves from each other again.
To my relief,Nathaniel seems to be in a better state of mind by the time Christmas Eve arrives.
It appears as if this self-imposed quarantine together has restored him, softening his sharp edges. Though nothing about Nathaniel’s possessiveness, his need for constant reassurance, has truly disappeared, it has settled into something less volatile.
Even this morning, when he woke up draped all over me as he always does, he was already in unusually high spirits. There was no trace of the brooding restlessness that’s lingered in his expression for days, no hint of the dread that usually overtakes him at the prospect of spending time with his family. He’s at peace—or as close to it as he ever gets.
Although, I suspect that his chipper mood might also have something to do with the dress I decided to wear tonight.
It’s an elegant midnight-blue number, the fabric clinging just so to my curves, accentuating them in the most flattering way. A slit runs high enough to tease but not reveal—sophisticated, with just enough edge to make him look twice.
